Crabbin
We never saw them catch nor
Boil alive them harbour crabs
They serve round here
With salad and a lemon slice
But boy you could hear em
Sing n squeal in the copper pan
Back in the yard, back in the day
Saw loads on em n lobster too
All harvested in old rope pots
And one or two were hand-lined in
By city kids on day school trips
Then sold on, from harbour walls
For maybe a few bob perhaps
The missus, she had moule to start
That’s what the French call mussels
Dont’cha know, then cod n chips
All washed down with a mug of tea
You can beat an egg, but ya just can’t
Beat a good cuppa these days she say’s
While Brulee, that’s the pup I mean
Not some posh pie knocked back her
Marshfield Farm doggie pud before I
Even started mine
Whelks, I had I must be slowin down
Or getting old, maybe both, I smiled
Seabreeze n Salty Nutz both fishin
Boats bobbed a gentle swaying dance
Upon the harbour swell, near naked
Minus mast n sail they were
Made us both near blush they did
Ah’ yes, the sight, n smells and taste of it
Did make I smile again, just knowin
All was well and we could all be back
Next week n do it all again ........